


Nothing left for damned

by Mayonnaiser



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: (not really lol), Character Study, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Implied homophobia, M/M, Murderface (who would have thought), Murderface Centric, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, failed attempt at, just let's drink some booze to forget all our problems, so we can wake up in a morning to hate ourselves even more, someone has a problem with accepting how gay he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21718921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayonnaiser/pseuds/Mayonnaiser
Summary: Pickles really loves men fucking him, when he is drunk. Murderface is just convenient. Or so he thinks.
Relationships: William Murderface/Pickles the Drummer
Kudos: 26





	Nothing left for damned

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of background to enhance your reading expirience: Pickles is gay and came out after a long time. He's fine with women, it's just that men make him feel better. Both Dethklok and fans actually accepted him for who he is. As for Murderface, he is closeted and extremely scared to come out. 
> 
> Something like this, yeah.
> 
> I'm quite sad there is not much on Murderface/Pickles, though I believe this pair to be very interesting to say the least, so here I go.

There is something uncanny in a way Pickles looks like, when he is sober; his eyes are about to shut and overall he’s just so tired, it is physically painful to even be near him. Thinking about helping him or whatever is out of the question, Dethklok does not intervene in the band member’s lives, so Pickles can just die right here and no one will notice. Except, there is at least one man, who will.

William, though, struggles with not looking at the drummer, who is about to stand up and find himself a bottle of liquor. He grits his teeth and frowns, making himself look the other way. If Pickles were him, he would not give a single damn about Murderface. William cannot blame him for this, he truly could not blame anyone for hating such a piece of shit like him.

And yet, wasn’t that Pickles, who started this clown fest?

Every time Pickles is drunk, William can feel the lust crawling down his spine, driving him crazy with want, when this red-haired twink sits on his lap, dry humping him like a dog with girly moans. The only time they stayed together after a night is a sure disaster, because the next morning Pickles looks literally dead inside, more than usual, to be precise. Honestly, William does not feel better either.

Of course, no one knows. No one should ever know, and when they are together anywhere outside of their rooms, it seems just fine with pranks, rude words and a healthy bit of hate. It is only when Murderface looks at Charles, who appears to be as strict as usual, and Offdensen looks back, they share this awkward second, that does not mean anything particular necessarily, but there is more than enough for William anyway.

He would prefer to be told straightforward ‘I know that you are gay and that you are fucking Pickles’, and this can be over, but, of-fucking-course, Charles just ignores this as he ignores all the things that does not mess up with the band. He clearly could not care less for two of the members drilling each other’s asses as long as it does not fuck with the band’s dynamics.

‘Great fucking job, moron,’ William thinks, feeling irritated as hell, ‘why would you even look at me then in a first place? To make me feel like shit?’

And Murderface does not know the meaning behind this, but he does not really need to, because he just wants to die of shame right there.

Magically, he cannot even make himself feel ashamed, when he is around Pickles. They do not look at each other, the drummer would not like it, when he is not hammered, and William is too scared to actually give in and make a move. Maybe, Murderface could suggest to go on a date or, at the very least, watch some horror movies together, but no, he would not do it, because he is a fucking coward, who would better hide in his own embarrassment.

Pickles looks bad. William even thinks that he will faint, but the drummer is obviously used to such conditions.

Sometimes, when Murderface is watching him, he could swear, that he saw Pickles looking back at him just for a second. Rarely William sees how softly this powerful drummer’s palms slide down his flat stomach, and it makes the bassist feel funny things inside. There is one time, when Pickles literally has a hard-on in a middle of a room, while they are with others. It is not easy to spot, you have to really look for it, but once Pickles puts his feet up in a strange way, so only Murderface can really see it, it becomes clear as day.

The look on drummer’s face in this moment is communicating only one thing: ‘if you say something, you will die’. Good god… Murderface does not really want to share his discovery with anyone.

Sex is good. William is a slave to how handsome Pickles is, when he is left in just his underwear, with a bottle and wide smile. His eyes are dark, it seems as if he cannot even comprehend what is going on, but Murderface knows better.

“Wha’d’you stalling for?” Pickles asks, grabbing his own pants and dragging them down, letting his half-hard cock hang between legs. “You’d better take me before I black out,” he drinks a little bit more, “or, well, if you are into it, you can actually fuck my senseless body, I don’t give a shit.”

William is a coward. A fucking chicken, who would not even look at Pickles, when he needs this the most, but would take him drunk and mindless like this. He is so hard, he does not even need to prepare, when he parts Pickles’ legs, takes some lube and smears it everywhere just like a pig he is. Murderface enters him effortlessly, stretching this tight hole, that was waiting for him desperately.

“Fuck, fuck,” Pickles whispers, closing his eyes, while his voice is shaking, “fuckity-fuck.”

“What? You like this fat cock, whore?” William asks, smiling, thinking how pathetic he should sound. No one would ever like neither his cock nor attitude for that matter. Pickles, though, clearly is out of his mind.

“God, I love it,” the drummer murmurs, throwing away the bottle, grasping Murderface’s shoulders and meeting him halfway with his hips. “If you don’t make me cum in the next five fucking minutes, I swear, I’ll kill you.”

“Shut up, gay idiot,” William growls, pounding faster.

Pickles looks at his ugly face, takes off one of the hands from a shoulder, so he can caress William’s cheek. Fingers touch him lightly, making the bassist slow down the pace to the speed of a snail.

“What?” Murderface asks, feeling sudden unease. Pickles does not look drunk whatsoever, and this sends William’s stress levels to unthinkable heights.

Fuck. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck…_

He is about to freak out, when the drummer looks in his eyes, and there is something mesmerizing between the two of them. Pickles’ lips, when he impulsively kisses William, are chapped, but bittersweet. They part not because they want, there is just literally no air left for them, and they are breathing heavily, while Murderface still slowly fucks him in a tight ass.

“Your time’s up,” Pickles says, and William stops, as if this is some kind of a role-play. “I’m gonna kill you now.”

“Go on,” Murderface utters, “end my misery, shithead.”

“Ready?”

“From the second I was born, fucking do it already. Choke me or something.”

“I like you.”

William does not feel his limbs.

“What the fuck?” He asks dumbly, not really trusting his ears.

“I said I liked you, ass. Now fuck me hard before I actually black out on you.”

Murderface does not question it and complies with the order. He does not demand anything, when Pickles comes hard, kissing him again on the lips and telling, that ‘ah, Willy, fuck’ is the prettiest ugliest person he has ever known. Murderface chokes down his own moan, when he spills out in his lover’s ass.

William lies down and watches Pickles falling asleep on the other side of a bed.

“Do you love me?” It sounds so gay, Murderface wants to bit his own tongue.

“Huh, f’course, nah,” the drummer declares, yawning, “I like you, but nothin’ more than that for now.”

“Yeah sure, twink, like I care for your gay love,” William turns to the opposite from Pickles side.

There is a short silence.

“I think you do, but whatever.”

And the next thing Murderface hears is a soft snore.


End file.
